Love the Way You Lie
by Makkitotosimew
Summary: Remember that point in The Coldest Story Ever Told where you went "She WHAT! With WHO! No way!"? Ever wonder how that all came to pass? Well, now you can find out... in detail. ; AU/AH/allthatjazz. M for a reason. Hopefully a really enjoyable reason.


**Redundant disclaimer: I, like every other author on here (assumably), am not Stephenie Meyer. If I was, the movies would be more like the books and Jasper would have a lot more lines or there would be no movie. Just sayin'.**

**Now that _that_ is out of the way... I know a couple of you were hoping to know more about a particular moment in _The Coldest Story Ever Told_ (or _The Other Side of Me_, whichever your pleasure), and you all know I like to make you happy, so... here.**

**Oh! And congrats to my dear friend calikisses - she just got her college degree! *claps excitedly* Congrats, bb! SO immensely proud of you. Glad you liked your present. ;) hehe Hope everyone else does too... Oh, and just coz you got to see it early, doesn't mean you shouldn't feel free to review. :P**

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I sat on the corner of his mattress with my back against the wall, my legs crossed Indian-style and my skirt tucked cautiously between them. If it had been just about anyone else, I would've folded my legs safely under me or even considered throwing on a pair of jeans instead of just wearing what I wanted to. But Emmett wasn't just anyone; he was my boyfriend's best friend and was rapidly becoming one of my own.

He was handsome and charming, with his childish dimples, blinding smile and heartwarming, husky laugh. A constant aura of fun and genuine acceptance permeated the air around him, leaving it almost impossible to be anything but happy in his presence, and after years of friendship with Edward, he'd picked up his trademark lopsided grin, perfecting it and taking it above and beyond, to the point where it was easy to see what made Rosalie fall for him.

"I'm still stuck on number thirty-five," I complained, pointing at the problem in my book as it rested precariously on my knee.

"It's easy, Ali," he laughed as he scribbled on a scrap of paper in his familiar unintelligible script. "You just factor the numerator and the denominator, divide out the common variables…" Numbers and limit signs swam through my head as he spoke.

"I can't do this anymore, Em. My eyes feel like they're gonna fall out," I whined, shoving the book off my lap.

He threw his notebook aside and lunged dramatically toward me, his arms outstretched and his palms up. I raised a confused eyebrow at him and he laughed as he explained, "What? I just washed these sheets. I don't want your nasty eye stuff on them."

I rolled my eyes – Emmett exaggeratedly pretended they would jump out at any moment – and smacked him playfully in the arm. His booming laughter echoed off the walls as I rubbed my now-sore hand.

"You should know better than to mess with the guns by now, Ali Baba," he joked, flexing his arms at me and using the insipid yet adorable nickname he'd saddled me with.

"Kiss the 'guns'," I said, complete with air quotes, "and I leave now."

"Okay, okay," he laughed. His smile slowly faded into a knowing and slightly conspiratorial smirk as he eyed the blanket on his bed nervously. "I got you a present. Y'know… for Christmas."

"You did?" I could feel my lips turning up at the edges of their own contented volition. "I feel bad… I didn't get you anything."

"Don't worry about it," he said, reaching over and digging through his cluttered nightstand drawer. He emerged with a rectangular, pale blue box tied with a white ribbon and my eyebrows shot clear off my face as he handed it to me. "I reused the box," he laughed when he saw my expression. I untied the ribbon and let it fall on the bed as I lifted the lid unnecessarily carefully.

"I saw it in the store while looking for something for Rosie," he explained. "It reminded me of you."

_It_ was a string of white, off-white and pale blue beads held together by a silver chain. It matched the box perfectly and I almost laughed as I imagined Emmett rummaging through stacks of Mrs. McCarty's old jewelry boxes in search of something fitting.

"Thank you _so_ much, Emmett. It's lovely." Sure, it looked a touch maternal in the box, the beads so closely resembling pearls, but I had a gut instinct that it would be perfect once I had it on. I picked it up and fumbled with the clasp for a moment before deciding to just ask for the help I so clearly and pathetically needed.

He took the necklace from me, his face glowing with a sense of pride over how much I liked my gift, and I turned to face away from him, lifting my hair as I moved. He clasped it behind my neck with astonishing ease, and I felt his fingers slowly brush my skin as the beads fell into place. His touch, though unexpected, was pleasant and gentle, almost loving. It reminded me of the way Edward had held me and touched me during our summer in St. Barts, how he'd unearthed hundreds of tiny, nonverbal ways to express his love for me.

I turned to face him, my heart in my throat. My mind raced a mile a minute, screaming at me that the way Emmett had just touched me was _not_ a friendly touch and I should already be on my way out the door. But instead of running, I just smiled and thanked him again.

"You're welcome." His voice was hesitant, almost breathy, and only served to amplify my nervousness… and excite me in the strangest way. "It looks great on you," he affirmed, unnecessarily adding, "Beautiful."

I smiled and blushed, touching the necklace gingerly as I thought over what to do. Everything felt so very different, but nothing had really changed, I told myself. Who was to say I wasn't overreacting, that Emmett's fingers hadn't lingered simply because he hadn't felt the need to pull them away instantly? We'd become incredibly close over the prior few weeks; it could've been perfectly innocent.

So I did what I would've done under normal circumstances – I reached over and hugged him, enjoying the feel of his arms around me a little more than was right.

After a moment, his embrace loosened and he whispered softly to me as he let me go. "I…" he began nervously. "I didn't mean the necklace was beautiful." His eyes locked with mine and I noticed a dangerous, line-crossing twinkle in them.

"Em…" I started, trying to put distance between us before either of us did something we would regret. Before I could even finish saying his name, his lips met mine, soft, careful and unnervingly hesitant. I could feel myself getting lost in his kiss, in the feeling of his lips against mine in a way I had never even thought to dream of. I sighed softly against him as all my sense and self-restraint danced out the window into the lightly falling snow.

His tongue trailed gently along my bottom lip and I opened my mouth to him as his hands found their way to my cheeks, keeping me where he wanted me. He tasted like cinnamon and danger, if danger has a taste, and my tongue tingled as it moved against his. My fingers tangled themselves in his hair, holding him to me as he laid me blindly on his bed, carelessly shoving our books and notes to the floor.

As my back hit the mattress, one of his hands left its place against my cheek and I felt his fingertips glide slowly up my bent leg. His touch got needier, hungrier, the higher up it went; by the time his hand grazed the hem of my skirt, he was all but clawing at my flesh.

I leaned my head back against the blankets, desperate for air, and he kissed and nibbled every inch of my throat he could reach. And when he ran out of skin there, he found more beneath my shirt, which vanished faster than I could register.

His hands felt amazing on me as they teased me mercilessly through the lacy fabric of my bra. I pulled his face to mine, kissing him more passionately than before as I slowly forced him to sit up and straddled his lap. His hands splayed themselves across my back, supporting me as I lavished his throat with attention and pulled at his shirt, thoroughly enjoying the small sounds of pleasure occasionally rumbling through him.

"Ali," he breathed as his hands slid roughly up my thighs and under my skirt.

"Don't talk," I begged, reveling in the feeling of his fingers digging greedily into my ass as I tore his shirt up over his head and heedlessly discarded it over my shoulder. I reached behind myself and unhooked my bra, throwing it after his shirt without a thought. "Just touch me," I pled.

He wasted no time in following my breathless command. Before I could even blink, his fingers were hooked into my panties and they were halfway down my thighs. I stood to kick them off and realized I was unconsciously leading by example as I watched him jump up and tear the rest of his clothes off.

I moved to unzip my skirt and Emmett's strong arms wrapped around me, his hands holding mine in place and stopping me from taking off the last thing I had on. His lust-darkened eyes flashed mischievously at me. _Skirt on it is, then._

He pulled me back toward his bed, pausing just a second to rummage through the drawer he'd kept my necklace in. I glanced down, following the movement of his hand, and briefly glimpsed the torn open top of a black cardboard box with a very enticing six-letter-M-word printed on it in gold. My body couldn't decide whether to be impressed or intimidated. It quickly settled on unreasonably aroused.

I thought about the way his eyes had sparkled at me, dangerous amounts of fun hidden deep inside them, and a surge of confidence and overt sensuality rushed though me. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. If it could only happen once, that one time had to be everything we each wanted and more. And if I was going to make damn sure I got everything I wanted out of this, _I_ had to be in control.

I ran my fingers slowly from his chest down the well-defined muscles of his abs to right above where he clearly wanted my touch most, enjoying the look in his eye as I got closer and closer. He closed his eyes, no doubt expecting me to take what little of him I could in my hand, and I smiled as I seized the moment and shoved him onto his back on the bed.

His eyes shot open as he landed on the mattress, the springs creaking softly with the force of his fall, and he watched intently as I climbed onto the bed by his feet and slowly crawled my way up, a Cheshire cat grin on my lips. I met his gaze for just a moment before I dipped my head and licked him from base to tip. His eyes rolled back in his head as I swirled my tongue around the head of his thick shaft, and the air rushed from his lungs as I wrapped my lips around him.

I bobbed my head slowly at first, testing my limits as to just how much of him I could handle, but sped as my confidence grew with each muted groan he uttered. When his breathing became shallow, I released him with a pop and a final taunting lick and eyed the condom he'd somehow managed to hold on to. He didn't need verbal direction; the very second I leaned out of his way, he tore the foil open and rolled it on, intently watching me as I watched him.

His hands reached out to grab my waist as I straddled his hips and guided him to my entrance, fluffing my skirt out around me with my free hand. "Tell me you want me," I demanded in a whisper as I teased myself with him.

"God, I want you," he groaned, his fingers tightening their hold on me, trying to coax me down onto him.

"How much do you want me?" I licked my lips as I slid just the tip of him in, moaning slightly at the feeling.

He pulled roughly at my hips, as desperate for more as I was, and I struggled not to let him win as he begged, "Alice, please."

"How much, Emmett?" I insisted, my voice commanding despite being barely more than a breath.

"You have _no_ idea." His grip tightened even more and I was sure I would have bruises in the morning. The thought should have bothered me – after all, it would be physical proof of my mistakes. Instead it just spurred me on.

"You're killing me here, Ali," he breathed through clenched teeth, his eyes closed with the strain of fighting the urge to just thrust up into me.

"Am I?" I teased, moving myself on him slowly, never letting more than just the tip in. "I wouldn't want to do that, now would I?" He shook his head violently, and I leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Let me see what I can do about that," before lowering myself onto him as I sat back up. My head lolled back as he filled me so much fuller than Edward ever had and my body stretched to accommodate him.

I leaned back, jutting my chest out and resting my palms on his thighs as I all but leisurely worked myself on him. Tiny, breathless moans escaped my throat with every roll of my hips, Emmett's hands deftly guiding their every movement. It was fantastic, incredible, even. My lust-fogged brain raced to remember the last time I had felt so good and came up completely empty-handed. I could feel the pressure building in me and suddenly slow and steady just wasn't cutting it.

I sat up straight, picking up my rhythm as I bounced on him and making obscene noises at the delicious friction my new position created. I ran my hands slowly up my body, teasing him as much as myself, until they reached my head and I found myself pulling my own hair for the thrill the pain caused.

I moaned loudly as he thrust up into me, his length brushing every so-called 'right spot' inside me at once. His hands trailed up my sides until I could feel them supporting the weight of my breasts, only slightly restricting the way they bounced as I moved. His thumbs brushed surprisingly lightly across my nipples and I thought I might come undone then and there. Half-incoherent pleas for release fell from my lips before I even knew I was speaking.

"Not yet, baby." His voice was barely more than a grunt, but the gloating smirk in it was obvious. I may have taken the lead, but I hadn't waited very long to unconsciously relinquish all the power and control to him.

His fingers stopped groping and kneading my breasts and I actually had to focus not to beg him to put them back. I was so distracted by my determination and the feeling of him inside me that I hardly registered his movement as he sat up and shifted us ever so slightly, not interrupting my rhythm in the slightest as he leaned his back against the wall.

It was like he knew what my body needed even before I did. The new position left me right on the edge, my orgasm so close I could practically taste it, but never let me cross the threshold into that glorious territory. It felt like he was going to leave me teetering precariously on that ledge forever. Every fiber of my being both loved and hated him for it simultaneously.

My half-hooded eyes locked with his for only a second before his hands were digging into my back and my nails were clawing at his, our mouths working together in a hungry and plainly desperate kiss. I could feel his face scrunch up in pained concentration as he fought to prolong the inevitable. But I didn't want him to fight; I wanted him to enjoy me, to enjoy me enjoying him. And as my imagination ran a little wild, I was pretty sure if I could just feel him throbbing inside me and hear him groan the release _I'd_ brought him to, he wouldn't be the only one shuddering in indescribable pleasure.

"Emmett, please," I panted. I wanted to say, "Please just get yours already so I can get mine." I wanted to tell him how much the thought of him coming inside me – condom or no condom – thrilled and excited me. I wanted to beg him to just _feel_ and not fight. But all I could manage to verbalize were those two words.

With a grin, he leaned in to whisper in my ear, his lips brushing my skin as he spoke. "Ladies first." His teeth sank into my neck – hard enough to hurt, but not enough to leave a mark – and I cried out so loudly I expected complaints from Moscow as the pain mixed with the pleasure and completely overtook me. My body, pressed tightly against his, shook violently as wave after wave after unfathomable wave of pleasure washed over me, the intensity increasing with each rush until I thought I might combust. Just as my thoughts were becoming coherent enough for part of me to wonder if my toes would ever uncurl enough for me to get my shoes back on, I felt Emmett explode inside of me and the whole process began again.

Even from that highest of highs we'd gotten ourselves and each other to, we couldn't avoid the winter chill for long, especially not with Emmett pressed up against an outside wall. His chivalrous side – the legitimate one that told him to behave the way his mother had raised him to, not the faux version that now allowed him the pleasure of bragging to himself that he'd managed to get me off multiple times in one afternoon – kicked in and he pulled the blanket up enough for us to scurry under it and keep warm while we came down.

For the longest time, neither of us spoke. We both knew what had to be said – and what couldn't be said – but neither of us wanted to be the one to utter the words. Finally, he sighed, his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling as he lay next to me.

"We can't do that again," he breathed. I felt his fingers brush against mine under the blanket and even as I said the words, a part of me – a part of both of us – knew they were pointless.

"No. Absolutely not." I laced my fingers between his, an unconscious VOID stamp on the verbal check I'd just written.

"And we can't tell Edward." He squeezed my hand, silently amending his statement to add, 'when it happens again.'

I nodded my agreement and kissed him on the cheek before redressing and gathering my things. As I shut his bedroom door behind me, taking one last surreptitious look at Emmett's partially covered naked form, I promised myself that would be the first and last time I ever laid a hand on anyone other than Edward. And as I took the first step down the stairs and felt the slight, almost pleasurable ache of overexertion in my legs, I knew without a conscious thought that that promise would be broken… and that its breaking would break me.


End file.
